Three Years (Late)
by thefalconwarrior
Summary: Jason finds out Dick doesn't drink anymore. (And really, Roy, if you KNEW that WHAT were all THREE of us doing at a bar?) He also learns why.


**_A/N -Intober Prompt #10: Flowing_**

First of all, WARNING: This one mentions a more mature theme (hence the rating, bc I'm paranoid.) Namely, rape. Nothing explicit. Spoiler-it's basically a Jason-finds-out-about-Tarantula fic.

Second, I've never been drunk. Sorry for inaccuracies.

Third...well. I feel like this could be improved. But I'm leaving it as it is.

Last, this is probably gonna be the last saddish fic I'll be writing for a bit, excepting the already-written sad fics for certain prompts.

* * *

**Three Years (Late)**

The thing is, Jason knew from the get-go that this would be a stupid idea.

It was Roy's idea, after all. And then there was also Dick.

Between the two of them—Jason's best friend, and his older brother, who happened to be very good friends with said best friend—they managed to rope Jason into spending a night at a bar. The idiots.

Well, Dick was paying so it was free alcohol, and Jason had a reputation to uphold.

* * *

Which is why he was here now, slumped at a table with Dick sitting next to him and Roy across. (There'd been a bet at some point, and Jason figures that's the reason why he already feels...muzzy.)

Roy and Dick were discussing what kind of drunks various people were.

"Nah, that would've been hilarious but he's just a depressed drunk," Dick was saying, amused.

"Hmph," Roy muttered. "S'rprised he get's drunk 't all."

"Endurance training," Dick said wryly.

Jason pursed his lips as that comment made something niggle in his brain.

"'Member Wally?" Roy chuckled. Dick laughed.

"Whatever you see of Wally is just Wally using excuses to be ten times more hyper than usual. He can't get drunk 'cause of his metabolism."

Ooh, long word.

Roy scowled. "Th'liar."

Ahh, there it was. Dick was surprisingly...eloquent right now.

"Donna," Dick said mischievously.

While Jason and Roy were both...well. Very drunk.

Roy outright guffawed. "NEVER tell'er I tol' youthis. Wild drunk."

And...endurance training, yes. Roy had built up his alcohol tolerance...kind of without actually meaning to. Dick had on purpose. But so had Jason.

Dick snorted. "Hah! Donna? No wonder she never drank around the team."

Ah, there it was.

"Heh, no kiddin'. Would ruin 'er rep's th'sensible 'un. Hey, Jay been quiet."

If Jason was as drunk as he was (he had to break off his thoughts a moment to belatedly bat at the hand that had ruffled his hair. Dick's.) then Dick should've been at least a little tipsy.

"Yup, that's Jay. Philosophical drunk. Quiet one." A pause. "And weirdly forgetful."

This bore investigating.

"Pah! Ther's 'story there, ain't there?"

(Unfortunately) it was coincidence, and not willful interference on Jason's part, that he interrupted before Dick could begin what would've no doubt been an embarrassing story. (Looking back at this night later, Jason would realize that he actually had no idea what story Dick had in mind. Courtesy of the "forgetful drunk" thing, probably.)

He lifted his head from the table and peered into Dick's glass. "How ya s'sober? H'many d'ya even drink?"

Dick swirled the clear, bubbly liquid in his glass and smirked. "None. I don't drink, Jay."

Jason squinted at him. "Nah," he said decidedly. "'ve seen ya drinkin'."

"Well, I don't drink _anymore,_ then."

"Mm," Roy mumbled. "Yeah. F'rgot that." He giggled. "M'I f'rgetful drunk too now?"

"Why?" Jason insisted. It seemed urgent that he find out for some reason.

Dick elbowed him with a grin. "I'm designated driver." Huh. Jason honestly couldn't remember if they'd actually done any designating but he kinda got the idea they hadn't. (irresponsible of them, really. Unless he was just forgetting.) "And also so I don't embarrass myself doing things I don't even remember later. See, Jay, last year there was this time ya got drunk..."

* * *

Some vague part of Jason figured it was a good thing, really, that Dick hadn't drank anything as he and Roy stumbled to Dick's car.

Jason found himself dozing off in the backseat before he remembered there was something he needed to ask Dick.

"Dickie."

"Yeah, Little Wing?"

"How come ya don' drink 'nymore?"

Dick tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

"I wasn't actually drunk when it happened," he admitted finally.

Roy coughed a little. "Dick?"

Dick kept going. "She was...she was a vigilante. She shot someone and—he was a criminal, yeah. But I didn't stop her. And then I was in shock and—I told her no. She didn't listen."

_What?!_ There was silence for a moment as Jason turned the words over in his head. What the _hell..._

"After," Dick went on quietly. "Well...there was a bar. And drinks. And then there was an office and she was telling them we wanted a marriage certificate. Didn't actually happen. But—yeah. Don't drink anymore."

"'m gonna kill 'er," Jason announced. (It made sense at the moment. Admittedly, it would make just a _little_ less sense once he was sober. Just a little.) "'o's she?"

"Tarantula," Dick said after a moment. "But she's already been dealt with."

Jason hummed.

"Dick?" Roy said again, quietly.

"She really has," Dick insisted to whatever unspoken question was there (although Jason would never be sure if Dick had misinterpreted what exactly the question was.) "She's not getting out-and no one's getting in." and then quieter, so that Jason probably wasn't supposed to hear, "Besides, he probably won't remember any of this come morning," and he smirked, (probably. Possibly?) alluding to the story he'd told earlier at Jason's expense. Roy didn't share the smile.

Thankfully Dick eventually successfully struck up a more cheerful conversation with Roy, which was in full swing by the time they stopped at the man's temporary apartment. (Neither of them really noticed that Jason had been quiet the whole time. His mind was a constant loop of _what the HELLs_ and murder plans.)

* * *

The next morning when Jason stumbled into his kitchen, Dick was there with his sunshine smile crinkling his eyes, voice teasing even as he pointed Jason towards the water and painkillers on the counter and flipped pancakes at the stove.

Jason grumbled and rubbed his eyes as he snatched up the water and medicine. Should he say something out loud? Would he say something out loud? He was confused, and the headache wasn't helping.

He'd just discovered, last night, that his big brother had been raped. And he was pissed. He knew, now, that he really couldn't go track down "Tarantula", whoever she was, to murder her—but it didn't make the prospect any less tempting. (Dealing with_...a little excessive_ violent tendencies...had been a problem even _before_ the Pit.)

But while for Jason the emotions were fresh, for Dick—it happened three years ago. And Jason was pretty sure that this was the kind of thing that you never _completely_ left behind you, but according to Dick Tarantula had been dealt with, Roy knew so he must have been there for Dick, and Jason knew that, especially in the past year with the "Batfam" finally not in fifty pieces, Dick had been genuinely happy (and yes, amazing actor or no, Jason could tell when his brother was feigning happiness. Trained by the World's Greatest Detective and all, and Jason wasn't as oblivious as—ahem. Some members of the family. But for all that, he hadn't known _this.)_

To make things even more muddled, he highly suspected that Dick thought he'd forgotten the conversation in the car. Or maybe he thought he remembered. Whatever it was that he thought, he was definitely acting no different.

So what was Jason supposed to do?

Bring it up? Pretend nothing had changed, because for Dick maybe nothing had?

Dick slid a plate of pancakes in front of him. "Eat up, Jay." And then he was back at the counter, making a plate for himself.

Ah, hell. They were notoriously bad at emotions, Jason was always a blunt one, and really, he figured it only made sense to clear up the who-knew-whats and all. He cleared his throat.

"So, Dickie, about last night..."


End file.
